by J. Kenner
Its mouth opened, leaving bloody toothprints on my wrist.
I jerked my arm away before it could bite down again, then pulled my leg back, too. With no support, the thing tumbled to the pavement, gasping for air through its smashed windpipe. Its tongue, black and oily, protruded as it growled and hissed and locked its clawed hands around my ankles.
I fell backward, trying to kick myself free, but couldn’t manage it. The pressure of those hands tightened, cutting off my circulation. Any second now and that intense demonic grip would break bone.
I winced, not immune to pain no matter how much strength the Lord had given me, and searched for something I could use as a weapon. I saw two things immediately: a broken beer bottle that I intended to put to good use, and three dark figures racing toward me from the street. They weren’t wearing their handy-dandy I’m an Evil Demon T-shirts; nevertheless, I could tell they were coming for me.
I didn’t waste any time dispatching the demon that had me in a clutch. I’d seen plenty of injuries caused by broken glass, but I’d never caused one, and I was surprised at how easily the sharp glass slit the leathery skin of the creature’s throat. That wasn’t enough, though; the hand stayed tight around my ankle, and I had to forcibly pry the elongated, bony fingers up, wasting precious time.
Finally free, I kicked the lifeless carcass out of the way and dove for my blade, determined to take the dead demon out of the game permanently.
I didn’t make it. With my fingers only inches from the blade, one of the newly arrived demons grabbed my feet and flipped me over, its sword descending at the same time, cutting a gash through my Bloody Tongue T-shirt as well as the skin above my ribs.
I lashed out in frustration and pain, managing to knock its blade back before the demon could try for a better shot, but I still suffered a quick kick in the chest right at my fresh wound. I sucked in air and scooted backward even as I grabbed the foot and held on tight, flipping the beast up and back as I used the creature to leverage myself up off the ground.
I was standing now, but I can’t say I was in a significantly better position. My three attackers looked pretty damned determined, and pretty damned scary, too. Two towered above me, with hide like an armadillo’s skin, a snout where a human nose would be, and eyes as flat and dull as a shark’s. Both walked on muscular legs with cloven feet, had tails dragging the ground as if for balance, and were armed to the teeth with so much metal I would have expected to see them in a video game.
The third appeared human in form, but I knew that meant nothing. Like the Goth girl, this demon’s blood would run black.
The front-runner demon flashed the sword again, but I leaped over it in a perverse version of jump rope. The failure of its sword to make contact as expected knocked the demon backward. I, however, couldn’t take advantage of its misstep, because I needed to focus on the mace that Demon Boy Number Two had whipped into a frenzy and sent flailing my way, the chain stretching out behind it.
In what was either an absolutely brilliant maneuver or a shining example of pure, blind luck, I reached up, grabbed the chain, and thrust downward, pulling Demon Boy Two to the ground with me. I grabbed the handle from its clawed hands, then thrust sideways, jabbing it in its soft underbelly even while I straightened up and whipped the mace around on its flail.
I held my breath, then let it fly, landing a solid blow on the third demon even as it was rushing me. It collapsed to the ground, pushing over the first demon—my friend with the broadsword—as it was getting back into the game.
“I don’t think so,” I said, then dove on it, landing a solid punch to its snout with one hand while I snagged the broadsword with the other. I whipped around, slicing Demon Boy Two down the midline as it lunged for me in a futile attempt to attack me or rescue its companion. I hesitated a second, waiting for the strength that should have fueled me, and when it didn’t come, I realized that I hadn’t killed the beast with my own blade. I didn’t own the kill, and I wouldn’t gain the strength.
No matter. I was strong enough as it was, and I whipped around, making the full arc with the sword. I ended by stabbing down, impaling the demon at my feet with its very own sword.
Bilious fluid from the two demons pooled around me, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the rush of victory because the third demon—the human-looking one—climbed back to its feet and got medieval on me, the mace I’d tossed now in its hand. It held the handle, eyes burning with hate as it twisted at the wrist, spinning the spiked ball faster and faster. That, however, wasn’t the scary part.
The scary part was the five additional demons racing up the alley.
“Bring it on,” I whispered, feeling foolishly, desperately confident.
“Bitch,” the human-looking demon shot back, releasing the mace. It arced toward me with pinpoint precision. I dove forward and down, the ball so close I felt the spikes comb my hair. I landed in a forward roll, then jumped up, the sword still in my hand. With absolutely no wasted movement, I jammed the sword into the human-looking demon’s throat, then lifted my arm, raising it above my head.
Impaled on the blade, the demon’s body twitched and shook. Blood dripped from the wound down my arm as life left the creature’s body. I breathed in its coppery scent, letting the lust for more fill me and make me stronger.
With one hand on the hilt of the sword and the other on the demon’s hip, I shook the body as a warning to the other demons who’d come to give me shit.
Then I tossed it to the ground. As I did, a gray cloud rose from it. A cloud that seemed to have eyes and teeth and a mouth that screamed in silent rage, opening onto a dark, black maw that looked like it could swallow the world. On the ground, the body twitched, and dim blue eyes stared at me. The mouth opened, a bubble of blood clinging to the lips. He uttered a single word, “Help,” and then collapsed, lifeless, on the ground.
I shook myself, confused and overwhelmed, unsure what had just happened. All I knew was that the body was dead and the cloud was gone, and I considered all of that good. But the five demons in the alley were still there, and that was very, very bad. I widened my stance and stared down my five new foes. “Do it,” I said. “I am so in the mood for more.” I could feel the blood in my head—making me rage. Making me hungry for a fight.
The demon in front locked eyes with me, and for a moment, I really thought we were going to rumble. Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. That was all it took. The others ripped for the street.
I stepped over my trophy demon and started to give chase, then decided not to. I was tired. I was freaked.
And I wasn’t keen on chasing demons down the streets of Boston.
I shouldn’t have relaxed. I should have stayed on guard.
Because right then—right there—the leader of the five demons thrust his arm out, revealing a crossbow that had been hidden in his jacket. I saw it a half second too late—his other hand was already there, supporting the weapon—and as I dove toward the ground, he let the arrow fly.
It struck me in the chest, and the world turned red, my ears filled with the thrum of my own blood, my heart exploding under the point of the arrow.
My useless limbs collapsed beneath me as I fell to the ground, my eyes wide open and staring at the demon I’d tossed down only moments before. He was already dead, that one.
Soon, I’d be joining him.
I struggled to breathe, but only gasped, finding not oxygen but bloody spittle.
The demon’s eyes stared out as the last bit of life slipped from me, his message clear. See you in hell, he was saying. And see you soon.
24
“One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Breathe.”
Blackness.
“Dammit! I need the defibrillator. Where’s the—”
Serpents. Twisting around me. My legs. My arms.
“Charge!”
Pulling me under. Ripping me up.
“Clear!”
Their eyes
glowing red.
Ker-thwap.
Forked tongues darting out.
“I got nothing. Again.”
Tasting me.
“Charge!”
Wanting me.
“Clear!”
No!
Ker-thwap!
No!
“Hold on. I think—yeah. I got a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.”
No!
“Alice. Alice, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand. Open your eyes.”
I squeezed. Then opened my eyes to meet concerned compassion in the form of pale blue eyes. Eyes I knew. “Thom?” I whispered, the word barely coming out past the cotton in my mouth. I knew him from my EMT training ride-alongs, but Thom had known Lily, not Alice, and confusion crossed his face.
“Oh, God, Alice!” Gracie’s voice, her whole body emphasizing her relief as she pulled my head into her lap and hugged me close. Brian and Aaron stood behind her, their expressions blank with shock. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” Tears streamed down her face, and she clung to me. I sat there, not so much in shock as baffled. Something had stabbed me in the heart, and that wasn’t the kind of thing a defibrillator fixed. So what the hell had happened?
“Thom!” someone called. “We’re bringing in the gurney.”
“I don’t need it.” I shifted, trying to sit up, hoping to prove my point.
“Stay still, Alice,” Brian said urgently, but I shook my head.
“No. Can’t. I’m okay.” I remembered nothing except the demon’s eyes and then blackness. And then the sound of the world coming back.
I shivered.
I seemed to be making a habit of dying.
I took the blanket Thom offered me and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then I looked around, taking stock. An easy task, because other than me, the paramedics, Gracie, Brian, Aaron, and the onlookers gathered in the fire door, the alley was empty.
“What happened to you?” Thom asked.
“There was a guy—” Actually, there were several, and they were demons, but I figured I shouldn’t mention that.
“What happened?” Gracie asked.
Don’t I wish I knew . . .
“There was this guy, and he jumped me,” I said, fabricating as I went. “And then he stabbed me—”
“Stabbed you!” Gracie said as Thom and his shadow shifted closer, faces both concerned and a little freaked.
“We didn’t find any—”
“I meant hit,” I said, brushing away Thom’s hands as they came close to my blanket. The material of my shirt had been ripped by the arrow; I was certain of that. But I was equally certain of what he’d see if he pushed the blanket aside. Perfectly healed flesh, right over my heart.
I’d died, yeah. But once again, it hadn’t stuck.
Dear God, dear God. What have you done to me?
“Alice? Alice!”
“He hit me,” I said, shaking my head, forcing myself to focus. “We, um, fought. He ripped my shirt. Hit me. And I guess I hit my head. He . . . I guess he got away.”
Or, rather, his buddies had carted him away. I grimaced, realizing too late that I could have used the dagger on which I’d impaled him to cut myself. I could have made it my own.
I could have used it and watched his body dissolve into demon goo.
“Blood,” the other paramedic said, crouched down over where I’d dropped the human-looking demon. He dabbed at it with a latex-coated finger. “Definitely blood.”
I shivered, suddenly light-headed and edgy as he stirred up the scent. A scent I’d keyed off earlier, the lust for blood fueling my lust to kill. Now, again, it filled my senses, primed me. But it was the blood I wanted now, not the kill. To imbibe it. To devour it.
The desire—the need—seemed to consume me, and I wanted away from these people, away from everything, because I couldn’t stand it, and the craving disgusted me as much as it compelled me.
Dear God, what have I become?
“Cops are on their way,” Thom said, forcing my mind out of its surreal haze. “And you’re on your way to the hospital.”
“No,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the scent. “I’m fine. Honest.”
“You had no heartbeat for over two minutes. You’re going to the hospital.”
“But—”
“Don’t you dare argue,” Gracie said. “You died!”
“Holy shit,” I said, climbing to my feet. I had died. And I’d come back.
I’d come back just like Zane. I’d killed him, and then I’d watched him come back.
And he would have the answers I needed.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, before taking off running. “But I have to go.”
25
“What have you done to me?” I asked, slamming Zane against the closed side of the equipment cabinet, making the knives and swords on the other side clatter. “What the hell have you people done to me?”
He looked me straight in the eyes, completely unperturbed by my fury. “You seem upset, ma petite.”
“Do not fuck with me. I died,” I said, and saw the slightest flicker in his eyes. “I died,” I repeated. “And yet here I am. Again.”
“Ma chérie,” he said, his voice soft and almost hesitant. “I do not understand.”
Because my knife was still lodged under the debris in an alley, I grabbed one from the cabinet and thrust it forward, slamming the blade through the thin metal beside his ear and burying it up to the hilt. “Bullshit! That’s bullshit!”
Even as I ranted, some part of me very logically announced that coming back from the dead was a good thing. That whatever cool new gift came with my fancy demon-assassin package, it was a handy trick to have in my repertoire.
Because if the Über-assassin-chick can’t be killed, that makes her even better at her job. Right?
Right.
But calm, cold logic didn’t quell the hot rush of anger and betrayal.
I didn’t want immortality sprung upon me like a Cracker Jack surprise, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be a mere tool, with everyone else knowing more about my life than I did.
I didn’t like it, but I was afraid I was going to have to live with it.
“Tell me,” I repeated, trying to force the answers I so desperately needed. “Tell me now.”
“Explain exactly what happened.”
“No,” I spat. “You explain. You said I get strength when I kill with my blade? Maybe so. But I get a whole hell of a lot more that that, don’t I? That sexual tingle. The bloodlust. The goddamned immortality. I take something inside me. Don’t I? Don’t I?” My eyes stung, and I could feel the tears hot and heavy behind my eyes. I knew I needed to rein it in, but something dark and bitter was inside me. Something raging and silent, pushing me along.
Demons.
With each kill, I was somehow sucking in their vileness. Their blackness. Their rage and desolation.
I soaked in what they felt, what they wanted, what they craved. Be it pain, or fury, or blood.
And I drew in their anger—an anger I was currently quite happy to inflict on Zane.
“You will release me now,” he said, “and we will speak calmly. If not, I assure you it will not go well for you.”
With a humorless laugh, I pushed myself back. “Go well for me? There’s the understatement. Especially since there isn’t even a me anymore. And there’s less and less each day.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and stalked to the sparring ring, my gaze on those oily stains, the evidence of slain demons. “Please,” I said, my voice small. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”
I turned to him and was mortified to realize that not only had tears spilled down my cheeks, but he was close enough to brush them away.
The touch of his thumb across my cheek sent shivers through me, and when he pulled me close and stroked my hair, I lost it. “I can’t do this, Zane. I can’t fight for good if it’s going to make me evil. If it’s going to make me wrong.”
“Hush, ma
fleur. We will figure this out together, you and I.”
I leaned back and examined his face. “You didn’t know?”
“I swear to you that I did not.”
I took in his face, tried to find the truth in there, and found more than I was looking for. I’d let down my guard, and before I could stop it, I was tugged in, dark images filling my mind, along with a desperate, deep sadness.
I jerked away, terrified he’d realize what I’d done, that I’d been inside his head.
But as my heart pounded fearfully in my chest, he merely held my hand. “Chérie?” he said. “It will be okay.”
I licked my lips, realizing he hadn’t noticed. I’d slipped in quick and fast and if he’d felt me in there, he must not have known what it was. “How?”
He stroked my hair, and the sadness I’d seen in his eyes filled his voice. “I do not know,” he said. “There are times when I fear it will never be all right again.”
I pressed my lips tight together, certain I’d just seen more of Zane than he wanted to reveal. I rested my head against his shoulder, wanting to ask him what was wrong. Wanting to know his past, and about the demons that troubled him, too. I didn’t though. Instead, I asked a simple question. “So what do I do now?”
He sighed. “You wait,” he said. And then he left me there, alone with the dark thoughts oozing through my mind. I shivered, not much liking my own company anymore, and desperate to try to find the real Lily behind the black veil that was shrouding my head.
I don’t know how long I stood there, sort of floating in a sea of angst, but the next thing I knew, Clarence was in front of me, his fedora pulled low, his eyes bugging out in their usual froggy way. In other words, he looked like his normal, ugly, irritating self.
And I couldn’t have been happier to see him.
“It’s the essence, pet,” he said without preamble. “You take a bit of the essence of each creature you kill.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I actually figured that one out on my own. You want to tell me why you didn’t mention it before?”